


you know i love you (i always will)

by prncesselene



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Infidelity outside of Reylo, Inspired by Four Weddings and A Funeral (1994), Major Character Death (Han Solo)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prncesselene/pseuds/prncesselene
Summary: What starts as an impromptu night of passion at a wedding slowly becomes more as Rey and Ben find themselves running into - and past - each other over the course of a year.A 'Four Weddings and a Funeral' AU.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 118
Collections: Let's Go to the Movies - Reylo Readers & Writers Prompt Exchange, Reylo Hidden Gems





	you know i love you (i always will)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minkel23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkel23/gifts).



_**April** _

There is nothing more mind numbingly depressing than a wedding.

Rey knows this for a fact, because despite the supposed air of love and happiness perfuming Finn’s wedding, she’s pretty sure she’ll only manage to get through it if she drinks her way through the supply of alcohol behind the bar at the reception.

It’s not that she isn’t overjoyed for the happy couple — they’ve all known Finn and Poe would tie the knot eventually, it was only a matter of time — but she can’t help but wonder what all the pomp and circumstance and absurd hats are for when anything can go wrong in and instant.

Hearts change, people change, and then what? You’re left all alone at the end of the day.

But she should really stop projecting. She’s the maid of honor, after all.

“You sure you have everything?” Rose is halfway out of their beat up Mini Cooper, her hair in an elaborately styled updo. Jannah, Jyn and Kaydel follow, each of them more done up than the last.

“I’ve got the rings right here,” Rey holds up the tiny box. “What else could we need?”

The husbands-to-be have invited half of London _and_ the States, which has called for a bigger production than Rey could have ever imagined for her foster brother. Something about Poe’s parents being political hotshots, rubbing shoulders with war heroes and senators and the like. Which is fine, really. People like weddings. Especially big ones.

And a big wedding it is.

She watches the pure devotion written on Poe’s face as he pledges to dedicate his life to Finn, tears gleaming in his eyes. The two of them met the very day Finn quit his shitty security job, as he walked the streets of London in an existential stupor. They shared a drink — or five — and the rest was history. Finn likes to say that’s the day his life truly started.

The ceremony is over almost as soon as it’s begun, rings exchanged and vows promised, until death do them part.

Rey can’t imagine what it’s like to give your entire life away to someone, to know in your soul that a risk like that is worth the reward.

It’s not until they’re all at the reception, seated at their tables under a prim white tarp while cheesy love songs blaring over hidden speakers that she sees him.

She nudges Rose, who’s been tasked with capturing the perfect picture of Jyn gazing wistfully out at the gardens. “Any idea who tall, dark and handsome is?”

Rose peeks over the phone in the direction Rey has gestured to, her eyes widening. Her cheeks are already a little flushed from secret sips of champagne. “I don’t know, but if you don’t go for him, I will.”

He’s sitting next to an older woman and man, presumably his parents. They’re seated considerably close to Shara Bey and Kes Dameron, which means he’s probably American. _Definitely_ important. Which means absolutely off-limits.

Except her eyes keep drifting towards him, for some reason. He doesn’t smile much, and his suit is well-made, expensive, probably Italian. The older woman next to him has kind eyes that turn somber everytime they land on him, this serious stranger.

Once the cake has been cut and the witty speeches have dished out their worst at the newlyweds, the dance floor is packed in an instant; the bar, Rey notices with interest after dancing around a bit, is totally bare — except for a broad-shouldered figure in an expensive suit.

She’s due for a drink, anyways, and her friends have all found other things to do. Rose and Jannah are learning salsa with Poe’s grandparents, and Jyn has managed to find a new photographer for her budding fashion Instagram. Some wiry, dark haired fellow — Rey is pretty sure it’s one of Poe’s college buddies.

And all she can think about at this beautiful goddamn wedding is how she’ll wander aimlessly through the rest of her life, searching for something she won’t ever find.

So she goes to the bar. There’s something about him, this tall, large fellow with dark hair and pensive eyes. Might be worth finding out, for a night, at the very least.

“Another glass of red, please?” she hands her glass over to the barkeep, and she can feel his eyes on her. She wonders if he’s noticed her, too. If maybe this pull isn’t one-sided.

She presses closer to him. “Groom or groom?”

He looks down at her, quirking an eyebrow. His plush lips remain firm, but she can almost swear there’s a flicker of amusement in those eyes of his.

Before he can say anything, she raises a finger. “Let me guess: the groom.”

He smiles at that, and she considers it a job well done. She extends a hand, suddenly glad for the manicure Finn forced her to get. “I’m Rey, Finn’s sister.”

“Ben. Nice to meet you.”

She picks up the glass of wine and takes a long sip. “So you’re at a wedding, and you’re brooding by the bar all alone. Why?”

He shifts to face her, and suddenly she really wishes she’d worn taller heels. She juts her chin out a little to give herself some edge.

“Pretty sure I could ask you the same thing,” he says, taking a sip of whiskey.

Rey cocks her head and grins, holding out her glass. “Point taken. Cheers, then? To brooding alone at weddings.”

“Not alone anymore,” he rectifies, clinking his tiny glass against her larger one.

She smiles and takes another sip, shifting to stand just a _bit_ closer. Enough that, as she drinks more wine, she’ll be able to lean into his touch just a _little_ more. “Right.”

* * *

He’s not entirely sure how they made it here.

When Poe had invited Ben to his wedding, it didn’t strike him as out of the ordinary, per se. They grew up together, after all. Had grown apart once Ben had stopped talking to his parents, sure, but once he’d started working half of the year in London, they went out for drinks often enough to rekindle their old friendship. If only on the surface.

He didn’t expect to run into his parents at the wedding — which is more of a reflection of him than anything else, really. Their parents were best friends before they were born. None of this should have been a surprise. Might have been just wishful thinking on his part.

To Leia’s credit, she hadn’t goaded him with guilt trips or pity grabs. She’d looked him up and down — _when had she gotten so short? —_ elegant, wrinkled hands clasped around her chest, and managed a smile, albeit a sad one. “You look very handsome, Ben.”

Han clapped him on the shoulder then. “Just like your old man.”

He didn’t know what to say, barely knew how to reconcile the emotions warring in his chest with the image of his parents standing in front of him. He had imagined what their reunion might look like — screaming, maybe. Crying, definitely. This politeness was almost worse.

They didn’t talk about anything of importance during the reception; they didn’t talk about Snoke, or First Order, or the things that had led him there.

Instead, they made vague comments about the weather, speculated on the catered food, pretended everything was perfectly fine. Like he hadn’t blatantly ignored their calls for a good year before they officially stopped trying.

And then _she’d_ appeared, almost out of thin air. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her the whole ceremony, her peach dress billowing in the breeze. And for some reason, after he’d excused himself from dinner and drifted towards the bar, desperate for an escape, she was speaking to _him._

She was funny. That, he picked up on instantly. She spoke enough for the both of them, but he’d always been better at listening, anyways.

He listened to her talk about her job — or lack thereof at the moment — and her friends and their little community, pointing out who had slept with who, and who was currently fighting who, and why.

She asked him questions about _his_ job, and his friends, and he tried his best to answer. He worked in finance, he lived alone, he didn’t really want to dwell on anything else. Not tonight.

He couldn’t tell for sure if she was flirting with him until the moment she laid a hand on his bicep, through the dress shirt, leaning in closer.

She smelled like violets.

“Where are you staying, Ben?”

He raises an eyebrow. If this was leading where he thought it would, he wanted to be sure. He brought a hand to her thigh, just above her knee. The fabric of her dress was silky under his touch.

“I have an apartment in the city, live there half the year.”

She seems to calculate her next move, downing the last sip of wine and placing her tiny hand atop his. “You may be American, but we call those _flats_ , here. Not apartments.”

“Pretty sure I can call it whatever I want.” Maybe the whiskey has given him some courage, too. Maybe he doesn’t want to think about his parents, or his job. Just the pretty girl who smells like violets and, for some godforsaken reason, seems to actually be into him.

Her teeth are brilliant when she smiles. “You live alone in that _flat_?”

* * *

She kisses him before he has a chance to ask her if she wants a drink.

He’d ordered an Uber for them while she kissed her friends goodbye, winking in Finn and Poe’s direction when they raised an eyebrow at her.

His hand is at the small of her back when he opens the door to his sleek flat on Knightsbridge — _rich, rich, rich_ — and his fingers skim the fabric at her hip just enough to fully set ablaze what’s been stirring inside her all night, and she can’t help it. His eyes, his lips, the tiny little smiles he gives her when she makes her stupid jokes.

He seems like someone she can lose herself in, and she has a feeling he’s looking for the same damn thing.

She leans up on her tiptoes because she’s still too short even in her goddamned heels and presses her lips against his. He’s stunned for a moment until he wraps his large arms around her waist, pulling her chest towards his. He tastes like the whiskey he was nursing all night, and she’s more than happy to keep indulging.

“Are you sure you want to do this? How much did you drink?” he asks, breaths already ragged. She delights in it. He’s cuter than he thinks he is.

She smiles and helps him take off his jacket, his large arms perfectly sculpted in the light blue dress shirt. His tie is modest, and he looks every bit the uptight finance lad he implied he was, so she scruffs his hair a little. Shakes off the gel.

“I am very sure,” she kisses him again, hands flying towards his shirt buttons, undoing them to find firm, pale skin underneath. She was definitely tipsy enough for her social inhibitions to be loose, but she was fine. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Are _you?_ ”

The slowly building erection in his trousers tells her just about everything she needs to know, but she wants to hear it from him directly.

“Mmhmm,” he kisses the crook of her neck, his hand delicately sliding against her waist.

He leads them to the couch, where she takes care to straddle him, her dress hitching up her thighs. His arms skirt up to rest against her ass, and she can already feel how far gone she is for him, the slick moisture pooling between her legs as she grinds against the imprint of his cock.

His shirt is off already, and his skin is warm underneath it. She wants to be closer, _needs_ it.

He must feel the same way, because his thick fingers are tugging at her zipper, frustrated by the impertinence of the fabric. “Can’t — get this shit _off,_ ” he murmurs. She helps him out, giggling as she roughly yanks it down so that she can pull the peach over her, down to her nude lingerie in front of him.

His eyes go wide as he takes her in, his hands roaming up and down her waist, absurdly hot against her skin. He keeps his apartment cold. She grabs a palm and presses it against her breast, leaning into him while she manages to slip her tongue back into his mouth.

His finger roams up and down the apex of her legs, eliciting tiny sighs out of her before turning her over so she’s under him, on this fancy couch in this fancy flat. He presses kisses down her stomach before tugging her underwear down, drawing an orgasm out of her with his mouth before he even thinks of continuing, her fingers knotted in his hair while she cries out from below him.

“It feels like I made you up,” he whispers once he’s fully inside of her, a soft groan escaping him. “Appeared out of thin air right when I needed you.”

She can’t find the words — he’s much larger than she thought and fills her deliciously well — can only focus on how she’s not thinking about anything else right now other than him.

It feels like she made him up, too. Right when she needed him.

When they’ve moved to the bed, setting a more languid pace after their first frantic go, he talks a little more, and so does she.

He’s kissing her from above, her hands wrapped around him. “I just don’t know what my place in all this is,” she sighs against him. “Why I’m here, why any of us are here? What are we all doing?”

He moves to her neck, sucking gently until she whimpers. “If I had an answer I’d give it to you.”

“Surely _you_ must feel a sense of purpose, with your fancy finance job?”

He smiles against her. “Definitely not. Just as lost as you.”

When he’s coaxed a few more orgams out of her — and she’s done the same — they stare at each other under his fancy duvet, half-lidded eyes tired while their mouths run on endlessly.

“So that’s why you were all grumpy? Your parents?”

“You make it sound dumb.”

She grabs his large hand and holds it in between hers, kisses his palm. “It’s not dumb. I just want to understand.”

He tells her all about his family, and in return she gives away pieces of her, too.

“You don’t believe in _love_?” he asks her, stupefied.

She shrugs. “It exists, I’m sure. But I don’t know if it exists for me.”

“Impossible. That’s _impossible_.” He kisses her then, soft and slow. “That just doesn’t make any sense.”

This is too much for a hookup. For whatever this is supposed to be.

She knows that, but there’s something about him that makes it easy. That makes it feel right.

It’s not until he’s fallen asleep holding onto her naked torso, as small puffs of breath tickle her ear, that she wonders what it would be like to always feel just like this. Comfortable, sated, protected. It’s a comforting thought, and it lulls her into the most peaceful sleep of her life.

“So, when’s the wedding?” she asks the next morning, smiling shyly as she slips into the comfortable t-shirt and sweats he gave her after she complained about having to get through her walk of shame in the newly ripped dress. It smells like him, and she hates how happy she is to take this little souvenir with her. “Now that you’ve taken my virtue? It’s the respectful thing to do, you know.”

He laughs along with her joke, and then reddens. “I-uh, wait, really? Were you a _virgin_? I knew you were young, but–”

She sits on the edge of the bed, a hand on the blanket just above his thigh. “I’m kidding, Ben. Still… this was… fun?”

When they’d woken up that morning, it almost felt like it could be the start of something.

Like he might call her the next day, and she might suggest they go for a coffee, and they might get to know each other — _really_ get to know each other. Before they know it, they could be six months into something, a lifetime ahead of them.

“I have a flight to catch,” he blurts out. “I’m due back in the office in New York for the next few months.”

She doesn’t let herself be sad, even if the disappointment sinks into her chest with a resounding thud. What right does she have to be?

This was what she’d wanted. The chance to feel a little less lonely for a night.

And yet.

There had been something in his eyes when he spoke, something in the way he’d held her after he’d brought her so much pleasure, that made her frown just a little.

“Right. Yeah, probably for the best.”

They don’t share many words after that, accepting the fact that this — whatever it was — is lost to the wind. A missed opportunity.

**_July_ **

“I still can’t _believe_ how fast Jyn jumped the gun on this one,” Rose smooths out the wrinkles in her dress in front of the mirror in their tiny flat. “I guess when you know, you know, right?”

Rey shrugs, ripping out some hairs from the tight updo and attempting to frame her face. “I guess.”

“I mean I’m happy for her — Cassian is clearly obsessed — but that was _quick._ They literally met at Finn’s wedding!”

Rey vaguely remembers seeing Jyn and Cassian Andor start to chat it up at the wedding — admittedly, she was a little preoccupied herself.

She never tried to find him. She could have, and part of her certainly wanted to, but she didn’t.

He never did, either, so clearly it wasn’t meant to be.

But she lets herself think about him, sometimes. At night, when she’s having trouble falling asleep, she’ll let herself imagine she’s in his arms again. She might even wear the shirt and sweats he gave her. She sleeps easily those nights — but her dreams are full of him, and she wakes up feeling even worse.

“You girls done yet? We’re going to be late and Jyn will _kill us_ if we’re not there in time for the photoshoot.”

Rey isn’t entirely sure how, or when, weddings became so damn routine, but it’s a part of growing up she wishes she could ignore altogether.

But she smiles for the pictures — Jyn is a close friend, and she won’t ruin her day, either. In fact, by the time they make it to the reception, this crowd _much_ larger than the one that crammed into the tiny chapel for the ceremony, she’s almost positive she might be able to forget her sorrows altogether.

And then she sees him.

Their eyes meet across the gardens, and his lips lilt in an actual _smile,_ and she’s positive she must be making him up. Made up the whole thing, really.

There is _no_ _way_ that Ben Solo is at Jyn’s wedding. Except it must be real, because he’s standing _right there_ , and her heart has fully begun to beat frantically in her chest.

Rose must notice him too. “Hey, isn’t that–”

“Yeah,” she gulps. “It is.”

“Weird. Do you think Cassian knows him, then? If he and Poe were buddies...”

“I don’t know,” she huffs out a breath. “I-uh... I’ll see you later.”

She’s walking towards him before she can stop her feet, drawn to him again. By that same mysterious pull.

It’s odd, the way she knows virtually nothing about him, hasn’t spoken to him beyond their one night tryst, and yet feels so intensely that she _does_ know him.

She doesn’t know what sort of food he likes or if he’s a baseball fan, but she knows the way he sees the world, and that feels a little more important.

His shoulders are stiff as he drinks from his glass, standing all alone in the field outside the reception hall.

“Bride or groom this time?”

He smiles down at her the moment he sees her, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew Cassian in college.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Small world. Are we destined to just keep running into each other at weddings? I wonder who’s next.”

He looks _really_ good, so good it makes her angry. But when he laughs at her bad joke — always a good sport, this one — it’s stiff, enough for her to recognize something is definitely off about him.

Rey doesn’t get much of a chance to speculate on his mood before a particularly stunning, long-legged woman sidles up to him, holding onto a champagne flute with perfectly manicured nails. Rey hides her hands behind her back — no one had forced her to get a manicure this time.

She plants a kiss on his cheek before turning to Rey, who is once again entirely out of her element.

“Bazine, this is Rey,” he looks flustered, clearly uncomfortable. “Rey, this is Bazine, my–”

“I’m his fianceé,” she smiles, pearly-white, extending a hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

So, she’s British, too. Posh accent. Clearly rich, judging by the outfit. Suits him just fine. They look good together.

Rey can’t help the shock — and perhaps a tinge of disappointment — in her voice. “Oh. I– congratulations.”

For a moment, when she’d seen him, it felt like a second chance. Hope had bloomed in her traitorous little chest, the one that felt like it was doomed to loneliness forever. Like they might be able to try each other out again.

She knows she won’t be able to make small talk, not with the knot that has formed in her throat.

“Well, lovely to see you both,” she swallows. She has no reason to feel the way she does. Absolutely none. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to, um– assist the bride, with something, so–”

She winces once she turns around, horrified at her inability to play it cool. With a very specific pang in her chest, she realizes there’s nothing to play cool about when it comes to Ben Solo.

* * *

Fuck.

Part of him had known she’d be here. A big part of him. The one that had asked Poe, under oath of secrecy, to _never_ tell Rey he’d asked about her. The one that scrolled through her Instagram every once in a while, without ever watching a single story.

The one that hadn’t stopped thinking about her since April.

He couldn’t _not_ bring Bazine to the wedding — they may both be in this relationship for their own selfish reasons, but they’re in it, anyways — but he needed to see her. And now he had.

Why did it only make him feel _worse_?

He tries not to watch her as they sit and eat at different ends of the reception hall. She’s laughing with her friends at the appropriate times, but she doesn’t have that same smile on her face when she thinks no one is looking.

It’s only an hour into the dinner, just as the plates are being cleared away, when Bazine nudges him. “I thought you said this would only be a few hours long” she says through gritted teeth. “I have to go.”

He doesn’t put up a fight when she leaves. Doesn’t walk her out, either. Their arrangement feels more like that of coworkers than people who are supposed to pledge their lives to each other in a few months. He supposes that’s exactly what it is.

It all happened very suddenly, when he’d gone back to work. They wanted him in London full time, needed to know if he’d be willing to start a new life there. Snoke himself introduced him to Bazine, said she was a business partner with a small modeling agency. The perfect match.

He’d always been too gullible, too quick to follow pretty words. Now he wonders what the hell he was thinking.

And now he’s alone at Cassian’s wedding, and she’s _right there._ Sitting alone and watching the crowd. Somehow he knows exactly what she’s thinking, if only because he’s pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

She doesn’t flinch when he finally approaches her.

“Hey,” he leans close so that she can hear him over the music.

“Hi,” she says, leaving them in silence for a bit. He doesn’t move.

“She’s pretty,” she’s staring down at her fingernails. “Where’d she go?”

“Overnight train to Manchester to make a morning meeting. It’s... complicated.”

She laughs, then, though there isn’t much humor in it. “Isn’t everything?”

They sit side by side, staring at the partygoers. Jyn and Cassian are wrapped up in each other, picture perfect newlyweds.

“I’m talking to my parents more,” he admits, feeling the weight of that admission leave his chest. He hasn’t told anyone yet, but it feels right. For it to be her.

She perks up. She _remembers_. “Really? That’s great, Ben.”

“Yeah,” he leans back, suddenly looser. “Yeah, it feels good. It’s not easy, but we’re all trying.”

She seems to hesitate, before placing a gentle hand on his knee. “I’m happy for you.”

She looks just as beautiful tonight as she did months ago, this time in a dark green dress that shows off her legs. He’s captivated.

She still smells like violets.

“I booked a room at the inn nearby,” he murmurs. “Do you want to get some quiet?”

He watches her carefully, fully aware that they both know what he’s asking.

“I’m not… I don’t know what you think of me, Ben, but I’m not—”

“I know. Me and Bazine… I just want to talk to you. That’s all we have to do.”

She shifts, smooths a hand over her updo, keeps her eyes on the crowd even as he notices her relax just slightly. “Okay.”

* * *

They do a lot more than talk.

She’s not sure what it is about Ben, but they fall into each other like that’s exactly what was meant to happen. His hands are just as gentle on her now as they were before, his lips just as easy to get lost in. He still feels like something from a dream.

“Ben, what are we doing?” she whispers, when he’s still inside her even though the waves of pleasure have finished rolling off of both of them. He shifts, curling her up in his arms.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

She almost wants to cry when she realizes she can’t have this, not really. It’s not for her.

But she packs that thought away for later and enjoys this for what it is, letting herself enjoy the feeling of being in his arms one last time. She’s never been able to indulge in delusions or daydreams, but she figures she can steal just this one.

She leaves before he wakes up.

_**August** _

He was ready to call the whole thing off until Leia told him his father was sick. Has been for a while now.

He wants to be angry they didn’t tell him immediately, but it’s not that easy. _He_ hadn’t made it easy. So, he does the only thing he can do: he tries.

They’ve moved to London for the time being so that they can _all_ try together. As a family. And they like Bazine well enough. It’s for the best, so he goes through with it.

He picks out a tuxedo, and sends out invitations, and pretends that he doesn’t wish it were someone else. That he doesn’t think of _her_ , and what could have been if things had gone differently. If he took advantage of missed opportunities.

“Always dreamed I’d see my boy happy,” Han beams at him one day, as they’re leaving the hospital. His father was well-known for his snark, but he’d turned reflective in the last few months. Like he knew his time was coming. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

He doesn’t know if she’ll show up at his wedding. He doesn’t even know if he wants her to.

But he sends the letter in the mail anyway.

* * *

She knew this would happen. Stopped letting herself think of the comfort and protection of his arms. Told herself that very night that it was the last time; a goodbye, before they’d even had a proper hello.

It’s for the best. These things weren’t made for her.

_**September** _

“You know you don’t _have_ to go, right?” Rose says, ever the observant friend, always able to read Rey’s moods before she’s even realized them herself. “You’re just torturing yourself.”

“Maybe,” Rey straightens in the car, on the way to the chapel.

Finn tries his best to be supportive. “Why don’t you try meeting someone new, Rey? You never know.”

She cringes at the mere _thought._

They make a beautiful couple. She’s only ever seen him in formal attire or completely undone, she realizes. Fancy suits or nothing at all.

She likes the latter a little more — the flush he gets in his cheeks and the swell of his arms, the sheen of sweat that builds as they lose themselves in each other.

But those thoughts are inappropriate for a wedding, so she shoves them away. Anyway, he looks good in his tuxedo. Just as she knew he would.

If she can’t keep her eyes off of him the entire time, no one notices. Except him. Of course.

Each time their eyes meet it’s enough to wonder, so she avoids it altogether. She spots his parents again — his mother’s somber eyes are gone, replaced by pride and joy, and his father looks thinner than she remembers but just as happy.

She dances with Finn and gets drunk with Rose and pretends everything is fine. Perhaps if she tells herself it is, it’ll become true.

* * *

Ben’s life as a newlywed is mostly spent in hospitals.

It’s all the same, he supposes, considering Bazine is stuck with her own work, and he finally nabbed that promotion he’d been anticipating. He never expected anything more from this, and neither did she. He flits from long hours at the office to long nights near his father’s side.

He runs into Rey on a particularly hard day. His father’s health is deteriorating, and though they all do their best to put on a brave face, it’s hard to stomach the years of regret even if he knows he should be savoring every last minute they have left.

He needs a minute of fresh air, and his parents agree, so he goes to the bakery across the street to grab a coffee, and there she is.

He didn’t even know how badly he needed to see her until she was right there, working on a laptop in the corner and sipping on a drink with far too much whipped cream in it.

“Rey?”

She looks up at him, and God — he hates himself for every thought that passes through his mind. Every single one. Her eyes are wide, and her pretty lips are parted just slightly — like she’s just as surprised to see him.

“This seat taken?”

She lets him unload all of his family bullshit on her, and in return he listens to her talk about whatever comes to mind – gossip about her friends, her job search, the general malaise that comes with being young and directionless. Together, they make quite a pair, two souls blindly figuring out their lives — but they both know how to listen in a way that makes the other feel a little less alone, if only for a little while.

It's dark out when the employees force them to go and they part ways, each of them looking back at the other as they separate once again. He feels lighter than he has in ages.

When it finally happens, Ben isn't particularly surprised. He’d progressively gotten worse, and the doctors assured that it happened as peacefully as it could have.

Ben and Leia cry together, the two of them officially all they have left, but it’s not sad. He lived his best life, and all he wanted was to see Ben again, to bridge that gap that had been left wide open. Leia is confident he would have held on as long as he needed to for that to happen; and now it has.

He tells the people that matter — all but one. He doesn’t have a direct way to reach her, even now. That evening at the café felt like a faraway dream. But he knows she’ll come. He _knows_ it.

Him and Leia have managed the whole affair, and all that’s left is to say their goodbyes on a rainy Saturday in September. It’s intimate, and his uncles drop in out of the blue, but beyond that there isn’t much of a crowd.

Except for her.

She’s teary-eyed when she approaches him in her black dress, hair loose against her shoulders.

“Hi,” she says, wrapping her loose cardigan closely around her. “Ben, I– I’m so sorry.”

She understands all of this in a way that he’s sure no one else does. When her eyes meet his, they’re full of compassion and sympathy, not pity. He’s glad for it.

“It’s alright,” he smiles, a little sad, happier now that she’s here. “He’s in a better place.”

He doesn’t recognize she’s hugging him until it’s already happening. The contact stuns him, and she’s not wearing heels for the first time since they’ve met — she’s even shorter than he thought.

She still smells like violets, though. That scent alone is enough to make him tighten his grip and do whatever he can to keep her there.

“Thank you,” he says, voice muffled against her hair. “For coming, for being here.”

She pulls away to look up at him, and his heart falls when he sees the tears staining her cheeks. She isn’t wearing makeup, either, and yet she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“For you? Anything, Ben.”

He sniffs, now aware of the fact that he’s crying, too. “Anything?”

She moves her hand to touch his face, rubbing away a tear. “All you have to do is ask.”

* * *

Rey makes a plan after the funeral. After seeing Ben.

She’s not going to let life pass her by anymore. She _can’t_.

She signs up for a yoga membership, decides to go back to school - she's always had a knack for numbers - and tries to paint on the weekends. Filling her life up with things that are supposed to help her feel _better,_ more fulfilled. She still aches at night when she's all alone, though, the crumpled t-shirt in her dresser a sore reminder of something she'd rather not give voice to. When she wonders about him, she can only hope he's happy. The pain might be worth it if he's alright.

Rose decides it's been long enough and convinces her to go out and meet people, so she does, the months passing by so quickly she barely notices.

She doesn’t particularly like many of them, and she finds herself comparing them all to a dark haired giant in an Italian suit, but she tries.

Mostly, the dates are all boring. One hit wonders, each of them less impressive than the last.

A few of them she sees for a short while, but she’s never able to commit herself to anything. She’s never been more sure that love really doesn’t exist for her. Not in the way that counts.

But she’s also tired of the fight. Starts to give in, bit by bit, until she’s staring at a ring and doesn’t quite know how to say no.

Hux is nice. He buys her dinner, and he isn’t a creep, and she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life waiting for something that doesn’t really exist.

“I think we’ll be happy enough,” he promises while he slips the ring onto her finger. “We can make a nice life, don’t you think?”

She nods, even as a large part of her recognizes, right then and there, it's a mistake.

People do foolish things when they’re worried about spending the rest of their life alone.

_**April, again**_

“Well? Any last words before I sign my life away?”

She was going for sarcasm, but there’s more truth to the words than she wants to admit.

Finn is standing against the door in her bridal suite, arms crossed as he looks Rey up and down while Rose attempts to add final touches to her hair.

She couldn’t bring herself to spend money on anything extravagant, so her gown is as simple as the small ceremony she’s planned. She’s chewing on her nails — despite the manicure _she’d_ decided on this time — her mind moving a mile a minute.

She hears him sigh after a beat of silence. “I can’t do this, Rey.”

“ _What?”_

“I can’t walk you down the aisle. I won’t. This isn’t what you want.”

“Finn, you do _not_ get to tell me what I do or do not–”

Rose pauses from behind her. “Listen to him, Rey.”

She does as asked, but she already knows what he’s going to say. It’s the same intuitiveness that led them to stick together from the moment they were placed in the same foster home, all those years ago, before reality and adulthood struck them in the face.

“Look at me in the eyes and tell me you’re happy. That _this_ ,” he gestures vaguely around them, even as his own wedding ring glints in the light, “is the way you want to spend the rest of your life.”

She narrows her eyes at him and puffs out her chest, doubt trickling in, now that Finn’s officially acknowledged it. “I… this is…”

Finn leans down to take her hands in his. “Stop lying to yourself. You don’t _need_ to do this, just because you’re scared. You won’t be alone when you have all of us here for you.”

She swallows the lump that’s lodged itself in her throat, her panic rising. “And you two have waited until _now_ to tell me?”

Rose sighs behind her, while Finn crosses the room to place a hand on her shoulder. “I know you, Rey. You were dead set on this… well, whatever it is. You weren’t going to realize until it was standing right in front of you.”

She hates that he’s right.

She sniffs, getting snot all over her stupid dress. Thank God it was cheap. _Fuck._

Her voice is thick with emotion when she meets Finn’s eyes. “What do I do?”

Months and months of planning, of shopping, of dizzying herself with details of something she never wanted in the first place, and _now_ is when she realizes she can’t do it. Can’t possibly go through with it.

She is _really_ shit at timing, isn’t she?

He sighs, sitting in the armchair next to her, accepting that it’s officially okay for his suit to get wrinkled. “We tell Hux, and we cancel the wedding. You cry it out while we watch your favorite movies, and we’ll pick things back up again tomorrow. Life moves on.”

“Everyone is going to hate me,” she leans into him, her decision already made. A dangerously easy one, now that it’s here.

“I’m such a damn cliché. A runaway bride in love with some other bloke. I’ve made such a mess of things, haven’t I?”

“Kiiiiiiiiiiinda,” Rose draws out while she rubs her back with a comforting hand.

“Don’t listen to her,” Finn chides with a glare aimed at their friend. “I mean, yes. This won’t be easy. But it’s for the best.”

Ultimately, Hux takes it better than she planned.

That isn’t to say he takes it _well_ — he goes off on a rant about budgets and wine and reservations, but ends up agreeing that it probably wasn’t in either of their best interests. He had his own doubts.

It’s a long conversation, bittersweet, and Rey has a full headache by the end of it. But it’s over. She can stop lying to herself.

What was it Rose had said? When you know, you know?

She’s tucked into her best friend’s side on the couch watching a movie a few hours later, still wearing the damn gown — it was cheap, but not _that_ cheap, and she’s going to make the most of it — when someone knocks on the door.

“You should get that,” Rose says, her mouth full of popcorn.

Rey squints. “ _Hey_. I’m the one that just called off an entire wedding. Don’t I get to take it easy?”

The door knocks again and Rose shrugs.

She rolls her eyes and gets up, the long silk dragging behind her now that she’s barefoot.

“Can I help—”

Her greeting dies in her throat at the sight of Ben Solo, hair plastered to his face, white dress shirt transparent against his chest. It’s like he _ran_ here, the way his chest is heaving. And it’s pouring now — a terrible day for a wedding indeed.

“Ben? Wh- What are you _doing_ here?” She grabs his hand. “Come inside.”

He shakes his head. “No, no… I just– needed to see you.” His eyes roam her face, like he’s making sure she’s actually there. “I heard you called it off.”

She closes the door behind her, standing above him on the steps. Finally taller. The rain is cold, but it feels good against her skin. Refreshing, in a way.

Her eyes sting with tears, though she doesn’t know what for yet. “I did. I… it wasn’t right. I didn’t love him. I feel I should probably love someone if I’m going to marry them.”

He brushes a hand over his hair, moving it away from his face. “You still think love isn’t for you?”

She shrugs. Her dress is just as plastered to her skin now, and her hair is sticking to her neck after she’d taken it down from the ridiculous hairstyle Rose had assembled.

She’s so happy to see him she can barely notice. “Unless you can prove otherwise.”

He takes her hands in his, places a palm against his chest. “I think I can.”

She’s definitely crying now. It feels like the last year or so has been a blur, but the one constant she can think of — the _one_ thing that’s held her together is right here. Every single time.

“I got a divorce,” he blurts out. “It wasn’t right. I didn’t love her. She didn’t love me, to be fair. Should probably love someone if you’re going to marry them.”

She walks down a step, then two, until she’s at eye level with him. It feels like she's been waiting forever to hear him say these words. “Probably.”

He works his jaw. “Rey, I–”

She interrupts him before he can get a chance. “I don’t want to marry you.”

He recoils. “So you...?”

“I _do_ love you,” she cradles his face in her hands, every memory they’ve shared suddenly on repeat in her mind. She's said it, now. The words are out, and she can't take them back. Good thing, because she doesn't want to. “I think I have since that first night.”

“But you don’t want to…?”

“I want to be with _you._ I have for a long, long time now. I don’t need a fancy dress to prove that.”

“So, you do…?”

She kisses the questions right off his lips, the rain crashing down around them. She kisses him until she can’t see straight, until she’s warmer than she was inside, until she can make sure he’s really here.

His large hands cradle her face and keep her near him, until they are a breath apart even when she pulls away for air.

“No more questions. I love you. I want to be with you,” she sighs, staring at him, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “But I won’t marry you. I think I'm done with weddings.”

He accepts that, kissing her again. She can feel his hands through the sheer fabric. “Okay, no marriage. But I’m not letting you slip away this time.”

She smiles against him, feeling like this _is_ the beginning of something, finally. Like this might when things start to go right. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

He’s not a delusion, or a daydream. He’s _real,_ and right in front of her, and she won’t let any more opportunities slip through her fingers. Not again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please do let me know if you enjoyed :')
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/hidingsolo)


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